Hotline Miami : The Prisoner
by Acesahn
Summary: Jacket is forced out of his endless loop of bloody violence, and dropped into a supernatural journey. Forced to witness the consequences of his actions, the powers that be guide Jacket down a path of self discovery... but is there enough left of the man to salvage?


The prisoner sat in the middle of his bed in his small intimate cell, rolling a green super ball around his fingertips, as he waited, waited for the end. He had been here countless times before, and he would return here just as many more. It didn't matter to the prisoner, he had long ago given up trying to change the world around him. He watched the green sphere of rubber roll across his knuckles before his fingers dexterously moved it back to where it had begun, only to begin the cycle again. He was no different. Any second now, there would be a wave of white light, a sudden impact and then… he would begin the cycle again. He would wake back up in his apartment building, wearing his worn Letterman jacket, waiting for the phone to ring, just as aimless and lost as he was now. Nothing would change, because the prisoner didn't want anything to to change. Everything was so much easier when he became an empty vessel of fate, a slave to the wills of the universe. He had no part left to play, yet he had been instrumental to it all, and that would be just fine for the prisoner, if he bothered giving it any thought at all.

The prisoner closed his eyes just before the wave of kinetic energy crashed against his body. He felt nothing. The atomic blast moved far quicker then the neurons in his brain could trigger a reaction. He relished the sensations that followed next. Nothingness. A blank canvas of existence stretched out before him. He was no longer alive, but neither was he truly dead. He was simply… waiting. Waiting for the reels to be replaced, for the tragedy to loop and start over once again.

The prisoner waited patiently, for the emptiness to shift and change back into reality. He would appear in his apartment once again, and once again, he would get a phone call from a man pretending to work at a bakery. The prisoner had known the man did not work at a bakery, even before he had relived the experience again and again. The man on the end of the phone had enunciated his words in such a way, that the prisoner instinctively knew, that he was speaking in code. He could have resisted the subtle influences, that the call had over him. He could have questioned what it was he was doing, or why, but he didn't. That was the moment he stopped questioning, stopped resisting, and embraced his vacuous new existence. That was the day he let himself die, and Jacket took his place.

Only that's not what happened, not this time. Before him was a door, very similar to a door in his apartment building. A familiar shiver ran through his body, he recognized the door before him. This door was not of this world. He stood there, staring at the door for the longest time. He couldn't remember the last time he had to consciously make a decision. Even thinking about thinking was unnerving to him. This entire time, he had gone without thought, every action he took was a simple reaction. He was a far more effective at whatever he put his mind to, when he stopped thinking, and started doing. Every action was pure, and unrestrained, without hesitation or remorse. It was upsetting for Jacket, to be forced out of his simplistic nirvana.

Jacket reached foreword and twisted the doorknob, opening and stepping through the door, without giving it any more thought. The room was bathed in three radiant lights, disorienting him as soon as he entered through the doorway. The three lights emanated from their origins on the far side of the room, basking the eerie glow all around him. The three lights shifted all around, as if fighting for dominance. They occasionally took turns enveloping jacket in their entirety, only to be replaced by a different colored light the next moment.

In front of him, sitting in three black leather chairs, were three mysterious figures, the source of the three mysterious lights. Jacket gave no reaction that he was surprised at seeing the three figures, he made no reaction whatsoever. Though alien and unknowable, Jacket had grown familiar with the supernatural beings before him. Each being shone with a different colored aura, but that was far from the only thing that differentiated them from each other. Each of their colored auras evoked a different emotional response from Jacket, flipping them on against his will at the mere exposure to the radiant light.

The blue light was calming yet somber. It was almost pleasant being in its relaxing glow, if it wasn't for the deep melancholy behind the soothing calm. It emanated from a woman wearing the horse mask, sitting on a chair to the left of the doorway facing Jacket. She was always dressed for summer, wearing a string bikini top and hot pants. Jacket would be lying, if he claimed he hadn't caught himself staring longingly at her toned, well endowed body. Jacket didn't know how or why, but he knew the woman behind the horse mask, was a blonde. Jacket had a weakness for beautiful blondes, he would chase them around the beach, like a dog would a stick, attracted solely by their physical looks. Turned out, relationships built on physical attraction alone, didn't seem to last very long for him. All of his relationships ended the same way. He'd fall head over heel for the pretty girl, he'd take her out on a few dates, managing to to be charming and funny whenever he was around her, at least at first. After the initial fling was over, and the initial hormonal attracted began to fade, he would feel his brain chemistry shift, his personality change without his permission. He would begin to do everything in his power to push the pretty girl away, through a series of emotional and mental jabs and barbs he would shove her away. He didn't understand why he did it, the best guess he ever came up with, was that he was trying to test the relationship by testing the girl, to try end the relationship, to see if the woman would go out of her way to save it. He needed to know if what they had was real or not. Every time he got this way, the girl friend would break up with him abruptly, proving him right, that it was not meant to last. It didn't take long for him to realize the problem did not lie on his preference for pretty beach blondes. The problem was him. It probably wasn't even fair to these women, to keep bringing them into his life, only to repeat the same tired cycle of hurt, again and again… but the alternative was loneliness, and being lonely all the time was boring.

The red light, was hateful and filled Jacket with guilt, at least back when he was able to feel such things. The judgmental aura brought up hot blooded memories of blood and violence, of mindless carnage for carnage's sake alone. It felt as if the red aura was trying to shame Jacket, to psychically rub his nose into the memories, like a dog in a piss stain on a rug. The hateful red light emanated from the man with an owl mask over his face, sitting on the other side of the room from the horse masked woman. The fact that he also wore a white suit and a blue shirt was not lost on Jacket. Why he was wearing the clothing he saw so many times on the bodies of his victims, he did not know. The Russian mobster outfit, the red light, the memories of bloody violence, and how he was sitting on the opposite side of the room as the woman with the horse mask… it all probably meant something. However, Jacket was incapable of deciphering such things, even before he decided to simply be a tool.

The yellow light, was simply unnerving. It brought up feelings more subtle then fear, yet stronger then anxiety. He found himself more confused then anything, whenever the yellow light was the one overpowering the other two auras. It was fitting the yellow light would cause so much confusion. The figure emanating the yellow aura, was wearing Jacket's exact outfit. Even the rooster mask upon the beings head was familiar. It was the very first mask Jacket wore, left in the box of "cookies" as directed by the man pretending to be a baker over the phone. It would have driven Jacket mad trying to unravel why it was someone exactly like him, so he simply stopped thinking about it.

The blue light shined gently against the left side of Jacket's body, before the horse masked woman spoke. "Its you… I thought we agreed it wasn't good to keep coming back here." She said gently, though a reluctant reserve was present behind her words. The blue aura gave way for the searing red aura, burning from the owl masked man. "Why am I not surprised!? He'll never change, he isn't capable!" The owl masked man yelled, the fury in his words as clear as day. The feelings of violent, judgmental rage subsided, and the unnerving, confusing light took its place, basking him in the unnatural yellow glow. The rooster mask narrowed its eyes at him, as if it was alive. Jacket could see a look of disappointment, or perhaps disgust on the living rubber face. Jacket felt his skin crawl as rooster head hesitate, simply staring at him for what felt like an eternity. Still, Jacket kept his eyes straight ahead, unwavering, uninterested. "Why do you keep coming back? Are you happy with how your journey ends?" The rooster mask asked, seemingly perplexed. Jacket didn't respond, he never responded to the figures, apart of him felt they didn't expect he would.

The horse masked woman leaned foreword, basking Jacket in the calm but melancholy light. "Maybe you should try to do something different for a change… if you wont even try…" The horse woman said, more sad then Jacket remembered her ever sounding before. Jacket felt the wave of hostility wash over him again, as the owl masked chided in. "You wont change, you'll never change! I never want to see your face here again!" The owl mask said, looking as if he would bolt from the chair and attack Jacket. Jacket wasn't concerned though, he never moved from the chair before, and he doubted he would do so now.

Jacket moved his eyes from the owl masked being, and winced under the anxiety filled emotions welling up within him, as the rooster mask stared back at him. Finally, the rooster mask shook his head. "How can you help a man who wont even help himself? You had your chance to face the truth, but instead, you chose the mask…" The rooster masked being said, leaning back in his chair, seemingly done with Jacket. Jacket felt the world begin to dim, he felt his consciousness begin to fade. He knew that he was being expelled from… whatever reality this was. As the surroundings of the eerie dimension began to fade from his sight, he heard the rooster mask's voice one final time. "Go back to the hell you've created… must seem like heaven to someone like you." The rooster's voice said, the sound of disgust dripping from the words.

The room continued to fade and fade, until only darkness remained. Jacket waited patiently, for the reality to reset back into something familiar. He longed for his familiar dump of an apartment, to step over the cords of his NES system, over the piles of dirty clothes, and to ignore the smell of stale pizza boxes and unwashed socks. The rooster was right. Being forced to live in his rotting pit of an apartment for all eternity would probably be hell to some, but to Jacket, it was home.

Jacket waited and waited, but the darkness did not subside. He suddenly became very aware, he could hear the sound of his own breathing, that he still physically existed in the pitch darkness before him. Silence. It was so quite, he could hear the blood pump through his veins. Jacket fidgeted, this had to be a mistake. The rooster said for him to go back, he said nothing about an eternal darkness. Jacket felt his blood grow cold. Was this his new eternity? Jacket of course had no answer to this, but he had done enough thinking for one lifetime. He let his mind drift away, and embraced the darkness surrounding him. Soon his mind was as empty as the dark void enveloping him.

A door opened in the darkness, swinging open a little more then a crack. A blinding white light from the other side of the door, cast an illuminate ray from the small gap in the doorway, like a spear piercing the darkness. Jacket's heart began to race in his chest. He had just gotten used to the idea of losing himself in this darkness. He had no way of knowing how long it had been, standing in the dark, but it didn't feel like he had been there long. He reluctantly turned his head, and followed the thin beam of light stabbing into his dark abyss, leading his eyes to the mysterious door.

Jacket stared at the door for the longest time. He knew he was going to walk through it. It wasn't even much of an option, really. While the fear of the unknown was ever present, standing there like a statue in a pit of complete darkness for all eternity would be impossible, when the exit was staring him right in the face. The only thing keeping him from walking over to the mystery door now, was simple anxiety, and that wouldn't be enough to slow him down for long. Jacket finally turned and began walking towards the door, driven purely by boredom rather then curiosity. He felt his heart beat quicken, and his breathing grow louder when he came within arms reach of the door. He reached his hand out, touched the knob ever so gently, and nudged it open.

A wall of white light barraged his eyes, forcing him to close them. He tried to open them a crack, to get a glimpse of what it was on the other side of the door, but it was fruitless. Jacket shielded his eyes with his hands and stepped into the blinding light. He had already made the decision to pass through the door, and was committed to see it through. The fact that he had no other motivation did not matter to Jacket, when he made up his mind he would do something, he did it, no matter what. He took a step into the light, and then he took another.

The sounds of glasses clinking in the distance, and Johnny Cash music playing distantly, filled Jacket's ears. He blinked his eyes, as they adjusted, bringing the scene before him into focus. In front of him was an obese man with a buzz cut, facing a jukebox along the wall, flipping through records. Jacket watched the fat man flip the mechanical pages of the jukebox with the arrow buttons, until they reached the end of the list. The fat man stared at each page carefully, as if his life depended on what song he would select next, only to flip through the list again, this time in reverse. Jacket watched the fat man repeat this process several times, before he turned and noticed him. The fat man's body tensed before he stood up straight, glaring back at Jacket. "Hey back off, I was here first!" The fat man insisted clenching his chubby fingers into tight fists. Jacket blinked his deep, distant eyes and took a calm step backwards. He kept his calm, empty gaze locked onto the fat man's eyes, neither challenging him, nor retreating.

The fat man blinked, seemingly unsure what to make of Jacket. "You're new here, right?" The fat man asked. Jacket realized he had no idea of where "here" was. He slowly turned his head to the right. He saw was standing in a large building, with wood floors and tacky wallpaper. Along the side of the wall there was a long U shaped bar, in front of a massive liquor cabinet. Several tables were stretched out around the area in front of the bar, and on the opposite side of the wall, two tables and wrap around couches provided a more intimate drinking atmosphere. The patrons were scattered about into small groups, with little mingling or conversation going on, which was just fine as far as Jacket was concerned. All in all, it was a pretty cozy looking establishment.

He turned his gaze back to the massive fat man before him, who was now staring at him. Jacket simply studied the man, whose pasty face managed to become even paler. "I got that feeling… like someones walking over my grave…" That fat man said distantly. Jacket didn't know how to respond to that, he simply watched the fat man, as he reached up and rubbed his head. The fat man's face twisted into a pained grimace, his eyes glazed over, staring straight ahead. Jacket had a sudden flash of recollection. He saw a wound suddenly appear on the fat man's forehead, his brains exposed, ready to leak from the shattered skull. As soon as the graphic vision filled Jacket's mind, it was gone as soon as it came.

Jacket remained silent and watched the fat man calmly. The fat man's face winced, as his eyes still staring dimly into Jacket's calm, unflinching gaze. "I'm done talking with you, I got a headache now." The fat man finally said, breaking eye contact with Jacket. The fat man looked off towards the tables, before jabbing a chubby finger to towards one of them. "Go talk to those guys over there, they've been waiting for someone… someone like you… back there." The fat man mumbled, zoning in and out of his own conversation. Jacket turned his head to follow the direction the fat man's finger was pointed. He spotted a table towards the back, mostly obstructed by the large bar with a small group sitting around it. He looked back to the fat man, giving him the smallest of nods, before turning to away.

He walked calmly in the direction the fat guy pointed. As he walked past the wrap around couches and tables, a flash of familiar colors caught Jacket's eyes. He glanced towards the white and light blue outfits of the two men drinking at one of the couches. His eyes met a large burly Russian, with long black hair and wicked scars across the side of his face. The Russian mobster's bright green eyes widened, before his entire body bristled with emotion. Jacket stopped walking and watched the Russian calmly out of the corner of his eye. The Russian leaned foreword, gripping his drink tightly, his eyes burned with conflicting emotions, bubbling up from within the burly man. Jacket could feel a wave of hostile rage, seeping from behind the fiery green eyes, but there was something else, something deeper behind the mobsters gaze. Pain, as if the sight of Jacket caused an immense amount of sorrow and loss. The other mobster, a dark skinned man with a neatly shaven head, simply stared at Jacket, his jaw dropped in disbelief.

Jacket didn't recognize the two mobsters, but that didn't mean much. He had killed so many, they all might as well have been white sports coats and blue shirts to him. From the body expression of the scarred mobster, Jacket guessed he was trying to decide if he wanted to jump over the table and lunge at him or not. Jacket waited patiently for the man to make up his mind, not making direct eye contact, but watching from the side of his eyes. Finally, the mobster relaxed back on the couch, and downed the rest of his drink, looking away with a lost, melancholy gaze. The dark skinned mobster sighed in relief, but continued to watch Jacket, even as he walked past the Russian drinking buddies.

Jacket weaved in between two of the tables until he stood, facing the table hidden behind the bar. Before him was a rather large group, compared to the groups of two and the wondering loners he passed on the way here. Five men and women all sat around the table, seemingly in a daze, staring straight ahead. Jacket swept his cool blue gaze from each of the patrons. He couldn't help but feel a bit underwhelmed. The patrons looked vaguely familiar, some more then others, but he couldn't place where he knew them. He was hoping that something would click, like a missing piece of some puzzle, the powers that be wanted him to solve. But as he looked around the table of broken men and women, none of them even bothered to look up at him. He didn't feel a thing for these people.

Something about the dark haired woman closest to Jacket, drew him towards her. She looked slightly more familiar then some of the others, upon closer inspection, but he still couldn't place her. He took a step besides the sullen woman, as she was leaned back on her chair, pushed back furthest from the table then the rest of them, with one white canvas top shoe resting on the ledge of the table before her. She was pretty, but not in an immediately obvious way. The dark, reclusive distance in her eyes seemed to create an aura about her, prodding any wondering eyes from noticing her. She had her arms crossed in front of her, half covering the Miami Dolphin emblem on her starter jacket. Jacket stared at her, unsure why he was feeling drawn to the woman, who didn't even look up from her staring, seemingly deep in thought.

For reasons unknown to Jacket, he felt a strange and sudden urge to reach out and touch her. Jacket didn't question it. He followed his unnatural instincts, be they the hand of fate, or just some random impulse, and stretched his hand out to gently rest it on the dark haired woman's shoulder. Jacket felt a sudden pull deep from within himself, before everything around him faded to white.

Jacket found himself standing before the dark haired woman. She was wearing a military jacket and clothes, with her dog tags around her neck. Jacket felt his memories flood back to the surface, remembering exactly where he was and what it was he would do and say, as if remembering what page of the script he was on. It was during the Hawaii conflict, his unit had just survived its first real combat with the Russians, and they were resting up near a gas station and gift shop. The woman, who Jacket now remembered whose name was Corey, watched Jacket timidly, her brown eyes twinkling nervously as she waited for him to say something. Jacket sunk back into the flow of the memory perfectly, the way only a tool like him could do.

"Got any smokes?" Jacket asked calmly. Corey made a face, narrowing her eyes ever so slightly. "No, I don't smoke." She answered frankly. Jacket followed the flow of time, feeling what his old self was doing, let it wear him like a skin suit. He nodded his head and stared off to the side, into the lush Hawaiian vegetation dreamily, just as distant and aloof as he always had been. He could see Corey watch him out of the corner of his eyes, seemingly waiting if he had anything more to say. Jacket placed his hands into the pockets of his military jacket, and turned around suddenly, walking away from Corey without so much as a word.

Jacket blinked, as he realized the memory was over, and he was standing near the table in the mysterious bar once more. He noticed Corey was now looking up at him longingly, her mouth partly open. Jacket blinked again, but otherwise kept his face expressionless, and his cool gaze calm and relaxed as he looked back at her. "Its you…" Corey whispered. Jacket nodded once, though he wasn't sure why. It just seemed like the appropriate response, and he did so without thinking. Corey's lips twitched and turned into a small smile, her brown eyes twinkling. Jacket wasnt sure how a seemingly insignificant memory could have had such a lasting impact on the broody girl.

Corey hesitated, taking the time to calm herself before speaking. "Have you come here… because of us?" Corey asked breathlessly. "I don't know why I'm here." Jacket responded. Corey blinked, her eyes wavering to the side, before looking back up to meet Jacket's cool gaze. "Neither do we." She said. There was an awkward silence between them, and Jacket could tell she wanted something more, but he had nothing to offer her.

As Jacket took a step to leave, Corey's voice quickly chimed in. "Will you stay?" She asked suddenly, prompting Jacket to turn back to face her. She opened her mouth, even before her mind had formed the words she wanted to say, so he waited patiently for her to finish her thoughts. "I wouldn't mind this place so much… if you were here too." She said hesitantly, trying her hardest to keep her eyes from wavering downward. Jacket responded immediately and honestly. "I'm just passing through." He said. As Corey's face fell, and her lips grimaced in disappointment, Jacket spared a few moments of thought onto how he knew that. Whatever lead him here, wanted him to interacts with these five, he was sure of that, how he knew that, he ultimately decided was irrelevant.

Corey nodded, lowering her gaze from Jacket. "You should speak to the others… we've all been in a strange mood since we got here…" Corey said softly. Jacket looked around at the rest of them. The huge fat man, with broad shoulders was drinking from a bottle of Dr. Pepper, occasionally playing with his long bushy bear as if lost in thought. As Jacket took a few steps towards him, the bearded burly man let out a loud carbonated belch, filling his nostrils with the sugary sweet scent of cola. Jacket glanced at the rest of the patrons, none of them had reacted at all, save for Corey who simply glanced in between Mark and him. Jacket wasn't sure why he was lead here. Seemingly, it was to wake these five up from their purgatory like states. He only saw two options before him. He could either play along, or take up a seat and join them.

Jacket approached the fat burly man from the side, watching him stare straight ahead. He had a troubled, distant look of a man mulling over some cosmic question, or perhaps of someone who had seen far to much. Jacket wasn't a fan of theorizing, so he simply cut to the chase. He reached his hand out and touched the burly man, resting his fingers on the shoulder straps of his bullet proof vest. This time, Jacket didn't feel pulled into a memory, he felt himself settle into Mark's own mind. He could see, he could hear, but he could not move or speak. He realized simply he observing the images before him, living through a memory that was not his own.

The large heavy set man, or Mark, as Jacket now knew, panted, his lungs burning and constricted in his chest. Jacket struggled to make out the blurry, wavering images before him, as the out of shape berserker kept his eyes down, keeled over from the exertion earlier. When Mark finally lifted his gaze, Jacket got the confirmation he thought he had seen out of the corners of the fat man's eyes. Blood, lots and lots of blood and bodies. Nearly a dozen of them, where strewn out about the room Mark was in. Jacket somehow knew, that Mark had run out of ammunition with his MP5 sub machine guns, and had killed all of these men with his bare hands. Mark swept his gaze over his handy work, and Jacket did the same, unable to do anything about it even if he wanted too. The bodies faces were smashed, their spines broken, their skulls crushed, necks twisted. Mark had thrown around and pummeled the mobsters with inhuman rage, like a bear savaging a group of campers. While it was a physically impressive display, from the explosive heart beat thundering in Mark's chest, Jacket knew he had pushed his body to far. Whatever dark powers he tapped into, that possessed his body to kill, that filled his heart and mind with berserk fury, it was now gone, dried up, leaving only a large obese man who couldn't even catch his breath.

Mark's body grew rigid, as he heard the mechanical sound of a shotgun being pumped. Mark brought his gaze up at the doorway into the small room. Standing in it, leveling a shotgun at his face, was a mobster with a burly, powerful physique and vicious scarring on his face, stared back at Mark with wild green eyes. Jacket recognized the mobster at the bar, but Mark didn't, at least not from his memories at the time. Mark winced as the mobster pulled the trigger. A loud "click" filled the room. The mobster's gun was empty.

Jacket could feel Mark muster the last bit of his strength, forcing the weariness from his body, as a new wave of adrenaline surged through his veins. The mobster stared at Mark as he rallied. The scarred Russian's fierce, wild eyes, grew wide, as if Mark was no longer a man, but a monster. Mark let out a powerful, bestial bellow, before charging the mobster. Before Jacket could see what it is that would happen, he felt himself reemerge back at the bar.

Mark was staring up at Jacket, much like Corey had before. However, Mark was much more visibly upset then Corey was, when she awoke from her trance. The big man grit his teeth and grimaced before speaking. "It wasn't enough… even the bear in me… wasn't enough." Mark said disparagingly. Jacket didn't know how to respond to that, so he didn't. He simply watched Mark calmly as his face twisted into a pained grimace. "If I was stronger… I wouldn't have let them all down." Mark said. Jacket could physically see the big man inflicting guilt and emotional wounds onto himself. Mark's body shuddered, his face welling over with regret and despair.

Jacket watched the big man masochistically torture himself for awhile, before finally responding. "You were all going to end up here. Didn't matter what you did." Jacket said. Mark shivered, his eyes widening with dread, as if afraid of some prophetic power Jacket had. In truth, Jacket wasn't even sure why he said what he said, just felt like it made sense at the time. Mark nodded and looked back down towards the table with a troubled frown. "So we were doomed from the start? What was the point then…?" Mark muttered, seemingly afraid to hear the answer. Jacket shrugged nonchalantly. "Does it matter?" Jacket asked dryly. Mark glanced up at Jacket, opening his mouth to answer, but paused. His eyes flickered with thought, before slowly, reluctantly nodding his head. It was surprising to Jacket, that such a simple sentence could suddenly slap someones life perspective back into place. It wasnt like he had said anything deep or meaningful, he wasnt even sure if he was mentally capable of being thoughtful. Jacket began to feel uncomfortable, at the levels of misguided admiration that now flickered behind the big bearded man's eyes, so he felt now was as good a time as any to move on to the next head case.

Jacket approached the big, muscular man with more caution then he had with the first two. Of all the people sitting at the table, he looked to be the most disturbed. He covered his face with his hands tightly, the breath from his nostrils making a pent up, snarling noise with every breath. Jacket eyed the strong man's body warily, unlike the rest of the people at the bar, his body shuddered with violent energy. This man was a pressure cooker, ready to explode. Whatever it was going on in his head, it looked to Jacket like it could come spewing out of him at any moment.

As he approached the powerful looking man, he could see the big guys muscles tense. Jacket tilted his head to the side, as he watched the big man for a moment, noticing how the muscle head seemed to be aware of his presence more so then the others. Jacket reached out his head to touch the big man on the shoulder. The strongman's hand flew to the side, nearly bashing Jacket across his skull with the back of his fist. Jacket's reaction to the attack was immediate. He moved without hesitation or fear, moving away from the attack, readying himself for battle, as the strong man burst to his feet, sending his chair crashing on its back. Jacket waited for the strong man to attack first, and he didnt have to wait long. His muscular assailants orange hazel eyes burned with wild, directionless fury, and his lips snarled to one side of his mouth, as he stalked towards Jacket, his shoulders hunched foreword, his fists tightly clenched. Jacket leaned his body back from a sweeping right hook, that came inches from his lips, before moving to the side, narrowly avoiding the second strike of the big man's barrage. Jacket danced on the edge of the strong man's furious assault, before finally seeing an opening. He suddenly lunged foreword, throwing his hand to the big man's throat, slamming into his Adams apple. Jacket began to curl his fingers around the berserk man's larynx, to crush or tear it from his throat completely, when he felt the mind of the berserker begin to flood in and overwhelm him. Unlike with the first two, he did not feel himself being drawn into the frenzied fighters memories, he felt his anger, his pride, his violent personality engulf him. He was as opposite to Jacket as humanly possible. He was not a tool, not an empty headed puppet dancing to the strings of fate. He was a proud, violent, wounded animal, slobbering at the mouth. Jacket felt himself unable to resist the savage personality flooding into him, and soon, he ceased to exist at all.

Tony's memories slowly focused into view. It was more then a memory, he was back there, in that building, just before they all woke up at that god awful bar of purgatory. The memory was so real, he soon forgot it was even a memory, as his feet slowly shuffled across the tile floor. His left hand was reached back behind his body, clutching desperately onto the collar of the jacket, belonging to the last remaining thing that mattered to Tony. He dragged the precious cargo as quickly as he could, without causing anymore damage. A sudden, small but sharp breath of air pierced Tony's ear drum like a thousand needles. Tony jerked his head around, his eyes reluctantly glancing down at the blood pouring from the gunshot wound in Corey's abdomen. Her aquamarine Miami Dolphins jacket was stained, with the bright red blood, pumping out of her body. The wound itself was covered, tightly shielded by Corey's hands. He gently lowered her down to the ground, his entire body bristling with anxiety, as Corey's pained whimpers assaulted his senses. Her zebra mask covered her face and eyes, crooked on her head, as her hands were clamped one hand over the other, pressing down on the gunshot wound in her stomach. He knelt down besides her and lifted her zebra mask up and over her head. Corey's mouth was opened wide, gasping out her breaths, while her bottom lip and jaw trembled violently. Tony felt his teeth clack together for a moment as he looked into her pain and sorrow filled eyes. She was looking straight ahead, and not at him, seemingly lost in the agony wracking her body.

Tony wanted to lift up his mask and tear his eyes out, just to get the sight of Corey gasping like a pained fish out of his mind. His words shuddered, only every so slightly, as he spoke to her. "You gotta hold on Corey… keep pushing down on that… gotta keep your blood in until help shows up…" Tony said, trying his hardest to simultaneously keep his voice steady and confident, while keeping his true emotions anywhere near his voice. Keep the blood in until help arrives… great plan. He was sure the medical professionals of the Fan Club bar would show up here any minute now…

Corey simply nodded in one jerky bob of her chin, moving her eyes to meet his for the first time. It was little more then a brief glance, before she looked back ahead, to stare at nothing in particular, focusing on keeping her mind away from the hole in her guts. Tony hesitantly glanced down at her red soaked hands. Bright red blood was running from the wound, running out from under her hands and in between her fingers, ignoring Corey's attempts to hold it in place. Tony turned his head to look at the trail of red smeared across the tile floor, leading to where Tony had found first found her, shot and lying on her back. She was losing a lot of blood.

Tony snapped his attention back to Corey, as he felt her wet, sticky fingers brush against his rough knuckles. Corey's eyes were filled with sad desperation, as she moved her fingers against the rough skin of his hand, before looking away from Tony, to glance at her mask. Tony understood. "Ok, here's your mask…" Tony muttered, placing the mask on her chest, closer to her hands. She clutched the mask against her body tightly, squeezing it against her wound as if it could somehow grant her strength, as if it could save her from the painful reality closing in around her. The blood from her wound ran against the white and black stripped rubber of the mask, as her hands clung desperately to both of them.

Tony stood, and grabbed her by the elastic collar of the starter jacket, and continued to drag them from the hallway. He grit his teeth, forcing his jaw to stop trembling, trying to force himself to get mad, to embrace his earlier mindset he had not ten minutes ago when he took a handful of buckshot to the vest… but he could not. Every part of him was infected by the tendrils of dread spreading in his chest. It weighed his heart down, and shrouded his mind. His arms and legs moved clumsily, as if he were weighed down with concrete blocks. He was useless to both himself and Corey right now. The only thing he could manage, was to stare straight ahead, and grit his teeth, as he slow dragged Corey to safety.

A sudden noise filled Tony's ears. His feet halted in their tracks, frozen by the sound he had heard. The noise was very subtle, a small little sound, like someone had sharply dragged their fingers across the surface of a balloon. Somehow, Tony knew in his heart what it was he had heard, even before he slowly turned his head back behind him. Corey's zebra mask had fallen to the ground besides her, and the hand that held it, now rested at her side, motionless. Tony stared at her, unable to anything else, before quickly turning back around. He continued to drag her, not stopping to check to see if she was alive. He didn't want to know, he couldn't know, not right now.

Tony muttered to himself as he continued to drag her. "Gotta hold on Corey… we're almost there, gotta hold on…" He said, under his breath. He wasnt sure if Corey would hear him as he continued to mutter, or if she was even capable of hearing him, but he continued anyway. "Almost there… almost there." Tony muttered softly, as they came to a door in the hallway. Tony slammed opened the door with his free hand, and dragged Corey into the room he had found Mark in earlier. Tony glanced down at large fat man reluctantly. Mark was looking straight up at the ceiling, his skull was cracked, his brain exposed. The blood from his head had pooled around Mark, drenching the back of his t shirt and combat vest. Tony had naively hoped, that he would have moved, closed his eyes, turned his head, something, when he came back with Corey, but the fat man looked exactly as he had when Tony left him. Tony tightly clenched his jaw and looked away. There was nothing more he could do to help Mark, Corey on the other hand, still had a chance.

Tony knelt down alongside Corey, his eyes reluctantly looking down to the vigilante woman's face. Her eyes were cloudy, unfocused, her mouth was partly open, unmoving. Tony felt a pang of horror in his heart, as he watched her pale face, studying her for any signs of life. He reached his right hand towards her long dark hair, poking his calloused fingers around the back of her neck and head, tilting her to look up at him. Her mouth opened, every so slightly, as her eyes moved onto his. Tony stared down at her grimly. Her eyes were glazed over, as if she had slipped into the fog of some dream. Tony would have liked nothing more, for this entire fucking mess to have been a dream. That way, when Tony opened his eyes, and woke up, Corey would be fine, and not bleeding all over herself in front of him. On top of that, Mark would have his brains on the inside of his head, and the twins would be answering the radio. Tony dragged his eyes away from Corey's distant, longing gaze, and looked to her wound. The remaining hand Corey had placed on the wound was simply resting there. Corey lacked the strength or perhaps the will to apply any pressure, so the wound continued to trickle her life blood from her stomach, down the sides of her body and onto the floor.

Tony reached down, pushing Corey's own hand away, before jerking open her jacket with one quick and powerful tug. The snap on buttons of the starter jacket popped open. nearly in unison, revealing the wound to Tony, as well as her pale skin and purple sports bra, both stained with blood. The wound was just a tiny hole, big enough to plug with Tony's finger. Yet from the tiny hole, Corey's lifeblood poured and poured over the sides of her stomach, and ran over the inside of her jacket, and onto the tile floor. Tony didnt waste anymore time. He reached down onto the wound on her stomach, feeling her warm blood and wet, sticky flesh under his finger tips, before pressing down. He held his fingers down firmly. Tony heard Corey's breath drag across the saliva of her lips and teeth, as she drew a small, sharp breath. The spacey, almost serene look that had been painted over Corey's face, twisted into a pained grimace. Her face lacked the strength to emote the agony she was in, but from the tortured light behind her eyes, Tony could tell, he was really hurting her. "I know it hurts… but you have to just take it… you cant just quit on us, we need you." Tony said, his words stumbling from his mouth unevenly.

Corey's fingers pressed against Tony's as he held his hand tightly clamped over the wound. At first he thought her fingers were touching him for comfort, but as he looked down at the tortured pain behind her eyes, he realized she was trying to push his hand away. He looked away from her, over the top of her nose so that he could still see her, still make out her expressions, and where it was her eyes were looking, but he could not meet her gaze directly. "This is for your own good…" Tony muttered, trying to convince himself more then Corey, as the blood from her body continued to drain from her, out through the exit wound in her back.

Soon, Corey quit resisting, not that Tony would call the futile strokes of her fingertips against his hand much of a resistance. Tony reluctantly glanced down to Corey. Her eyes were looking up at him, as if they were blanketed in a deep fog, while her face remained eerily calm. Tony wanted to lift his gaze back away, to avoid being pulled into the darkness looming behind her eyes. The sad, melancholic gaze was nothing new for Corey, it had been ever present in the woman's eyes as far as Tony could remember, but seeing her as she was now, bleeding out through his fingers, her head lying limply against his hand, the sadness behind her eyes was nearly overwhelming. Through her eyes, he saw the darkness of death looking back at him. Tony grit his teeth and endured. Corey continued to stare up at him, barely moving, barley breathing. Something angry, and familiar bristled from within Tony, as he forced himself away from the feeling of doom beginning to envelop him. He bared his teeth behind his mask as he glared down at her. "I was always stronger then you… one little bullet wouldn't even slow me down." Tony said, his voice a mixture between a snarl and a whisper.

Corey's lips twitched ever so slightly, attempting to smile, even through the pain, and the haze of blood loss. Tony tore his gaze away from hers, glancing to the right at Mark's boot, before turning to look back over the top of Corey's face. "Mark's here too, he's hurt… but he's still alive." Tony lied. Corey's eyes flickered for a moment, searching Tony's face. Tony did his best to keep himself as expressionless as possible, once again raising his gaze from her. He felt his hand tremble against her wound, and his words shuddered against his tongue. "Just hold on… help is on the way." Tony said, furrowing his brow in deep concentration, trying to bring help into existence through shear force of will. Tony almost cracked his molars, his jaw was clenched so tightly, as he withered under Corey's distant eyes looking up at him. His rough thumb caressed the side of Corey's neck as he held her, giving her the only form of comfort he could offer. "Just hold on… just hold on…" Tony whispered, repeating the words to himself again and again, as he waited for the help that would never come.

Tony's teeth clattered together, his lips pulled into a snarl that shuddered. He glared straight ahead, over the top of Corey's face. He swallowed the painful lump in his throat, and slowly moved his dark gaze down over Corey. She looked dead. Not sleeping, not peacefully resting, she just looked dead. Her jaw was hung open, and her eyes were partly closed. He had noticed her gaze waver away from his earlier. He saw it out of the corner of his eyes, and still he could not bring himself to look down at her, still he was unwilling to face her fate head on. He watched her slip away in his arms, through sidelong glances, helpless and impotent to a god damn thing about it. Now, her face was frozen, unmoving, and it would never move again. Tony's breathing quickened, hissing through his clenched teeth, blasting against the inside of his mask. He wanted to rise to his feet, to find the nearest mobster or cop, and smash his face in. He wanted to stare down a wall of guns with nothing more then a roar and his fist… but he couldn't even bring himself to rise to his feet. His body quaked gently, as his hands continued to hold Corey behind the back of her head.

The sounds of yelling, and pounding from behind the door barely registered to Tony. He couldn't tell if it was mobsters, or police, but in the end, it really didn't matter. Either way, it would end the same. Tony had told the others time and time again, they'd never take him alive. That was all he had left, that was all he had waiting for him. One last display of violence. One final charge.

Tony sprang to his feet, when the door flew open. He stood tall, his fists down at his side, as a detective, in a black two piece suit, strolled calmly through the doorway. Tony clenched his fists, as the detective parted his jacket, and lowered his hand to the service revolver on his hip holster. The detective stared at him with intense longing, that Tony did not understand. The detective's hand rested on the handle of his revolver, like some quick draw scene from a movie. Tony knew the detective was challenging him, waiting for him to make the first move. Tony dug deep inside himself, and rallied the remaining fight he had left. He glanced down at the body of Corey lying his feet, as he bared his teeth behind his mask. When the detectives hand flew his revolver from its holster, Tony's hands flew faster, as they reached up, fingers outstretched towards the ceiling. Tony closed his eyes, shuddering with shame and humiliation. He had dug deep, and searched within himself… but there was nothing there. He had no fight left in him.

"Well, what do we have here?" The detective asked, visibly disappointed that Tony didnt lunge for him. Tony said nothing, he couldn't even bring himself to raise his eyes to meet the detective's. The corner of the detectives lips twitched, as his smoldering green eyes burrowed into Tony's head. "Wearing masks huh? Another set of vigilantes, I presume?" The detective asked, his upper lip twitching into a sneer. Tony felt a chill crawl up the back of his spine. "Don't shoot. I give up. I'm through with this." Tony said in defeat. He grit his teeth. His words spilled from his lips without any thought. It was the truth, the honest, pure, unfiltered truth. The detective stared at Tony with pursed lips, narrowing his eyes. Tony didn't have the energy for any self righteous quips right now, he was sure he had plenty of those waiting for him in his near future anyway. "Just arrest me and get this over with, ok?" Tony snapped.

The detective simply smirked back at him. "Oh? You want your fifteen minutes of fame?" The detective said. Tony blinked, as he watched the detectives eyes twitch, his face twisted into a disgusted snarl. Tony felt it in the pit of his stomach. There was something wrong with this man. The detective sneered before speaking. "Well, I dont think so." The detective said. Tony waited, eyes wide, hands still outstretched in surrender, as the detective stared at him for several moments. There was something very wrong with this man. The detective opened his lips to start a sentence, and mumbled something under his breath. He did this several more times, before finally speaking in an audible voice. "Do you know what happens to thugs like you?" The detective asked, with as much flair as a protagonist in a buddy cop film would have had. Tony's jaw dropped, as the detective pulled the hammer of his revolver back. He saw what was happening, he knew what would come next… but even still, his body refused to move, frozen in disbelief. He never heard the sound of the shot, before the bullet tore through his brain.

Jacket nearly stumbled backwards, when he felt his mind jerk back into reality, out of the head trip he had been pulled into. He regained his footing, using the hand still clutching Tony's throat, for balance. The furious fighter, who had lost everything he cared about, only to be gunned down while surrendering, wavered in front of him. Tony's teeth were bared, his lips trembled as his pained eyes shifted within his skull, most likely processing the memories Jacket had somehow triggered. Tony's fist was cocked back, chambered for the blow meant to removed Jacket's head from his shoulders, frozen in place since Jacket laid hands on him. Before the head trip, he was a berserk warrior, flailing with misguided rage, a danger to everyone around him. Now, he looked more like a man, trying to keep himself standing, by gripping some invisible rope, as his fist wavered and shook at his side.

Jacket waited, Tony needed some time to process what it was that had happened still. Finally, the big man lifted his wounded gaze, the fury behind it veiled by a thick layer of shame and disgust. "Is that it? Thats how it all ends?" Tony said, his words spitting from his clenched teeth. Jacket simply shrugged back in response. Tony shook his head in frustration. "I spent my entire life, molding, perfecting my body… forging my fists to kill anything that moves… just so I could die like a dog? How… why did this happen?" Tony hissed from his lips, his eyes bleeding with pain and fury, in equal measures. Jacket winced under the caustic waves of emotions bleeding from from the big man. As with the others, he didnt think about what he said, his mouth only translated what his gut response was, in the moment. "It wasnt your body that gave out on you." Jacket said calmly.

Jacket felt a ripple of hate filled fury emanate from the strong man that was unlike anything he had ever witnessed before. Jacket watched as Tony's muscles flexed and swelled, as his entire body bristled with rage. Tony's eyes seethed and burned with white hot hatred, that roared deep within the strong man's body. Jacket realized immediately he should have taken the time to chose his words a bit more carefully. Tony's fist that had been hovering, floundering at his side, now cocked itself back into a powerful blow, quaking violently like a cork, trying to hold back a raging flood.

As Jacket readied himself to kill the big man, should he force his hand, Tony spat his hate filled words from his lips. "You think you can talk that way to me… just because you're "The man", just because your body count is higher then mine…" Tony snarled. His eyes crackled with furious electricity, as the pent up storm of emotions vibrated from his quaking body. Tony growled like an animal, before continuing to hiss his words through clenched teeth, and the side of his lips. "What makes your killing sprees, better then mine? What makes you the better killer!?" Tony growled in challenge. Jacket blinked and winced. He was stumped. What could he possibly say to placate the wounded pride bleeding from this furious warrior before him? Jacket actually wracked his mind, something he had thankfully kept himself from doing much of until now, trying to think of something meaningful to say. Finally though, out of frustration, Jacket simply blurted a response from his lips. "I just… didnt give a shit." Jacket said. As he predicted, Tony was not moved by his statement. The strong man scoffed back at Jacket, as if his words annoyed him more then anything. Jacket took a deep breath through his nostrils, before glancing over at Corey and Mark. The two vigilantes, stared back at the two of them, seemingly stunned. Jacket studied them for a moment, before looking back up at Tony, to elaborate his point. "You had more to lose." Jacket answered.

Before he could see what impact his words might have had on the pride wounded warrior, Jacket felt them tear through his own heart, as they escaped his lips. That simple statement, had done something Jacket had thought impossible… they caused him to feel. A deeply buried image ripped itself from its resting place, deep from Jacket's subconscious. A blonde woman's face, who would have been very beautiful, if it wasn't for the tears running her cheap, slutty makeup down over her cheeks like a clown. Her naked body was stretched out on a bed before him, likewise, it would have been very beautiful, if wasn't riddled with needle marks, and bruises on her arms, if she wasn't lying on black satin sheets, freshly stained with ejaculate.

Jacket was standing over her, staring at her silently through the eye holes of his blood spattered rooster mask. He had just finished massacring every living soul in the radio station, owned by the Russian mob. The target was the DJ, a large charismatic American, who had a weakness for loose women and Russian bribes. He had been entertaining his new business partners, by keeping a whore tied down in a bedroom, keeping her alive and sedated on a steady diet of morphine and cum. She was a whore, a filthy, used up, needle riddled whore. He stared down at her, with the stains of the DJ's blood still fresh on his hands.

It was her eyes, that paralyzed Jacket where he stood alongside the bed. She didn't look up at the blood stained murderer, looming over her with fear, or revulsion. She looked up at him, with eyes, red and swollen from crying, overflowing with sorrow. With a look of pure longing, she begged Jacket to kill her. The passive, blood thirsty state he allowed himself to be in, shattered and fell to the floor. He stood before her, afraid, and exposed, as she whispered with trembling lips, and pleaded with tear shrouded eyes, asking him to end her suffering. Jacket wanted to get away from her, to sink back into his passive, mentally masked state… but he could not. He knelt down, and took her up in his arms, and lifted her from the bed. She closed her eyes and rested her cheek against his chest, as he carried her to his car.

He expected her to be gone the next morning. He knew she was a loose end, that he should never have let her live, little alone take her into his home. He half expected her to run to the police, that he would wake up with a SWAT team in his bedroom that morning. But when he woke, and went to her spot on his couch, he found her sleeping soundly. He went about his day, playing Nintendo, watching TV in his room, ordering take out. He made no efforts to interact with her. The only form of kindness he showed her, was leaving a pizza box, with three remaining slices on the table in front of the couch where she rested. Once awake, she was aloof, and timid. She kept her eyes low, and made a point to stay out of his way. He expected she would stick around for the day, maybe sleep once more on his couch, and be gone the next day… but once again, she surprised him. He went to take a piss the next morning, only to find the door to the bathroom locked and the occasional sounds of sloshing coming from the bathtub.

It didn't take long for the withdrawals to start. Jacket knew in his heart, it was only a matter of time, before she would slip away now. Her body would be assaulted with the desire and need for opiates, she would have to eventually leave, to hook on the corner for enough to buy a fix, or find a friend who was carrying and be gone, out of his messy apartment, and his messy life, forever. He fully expected her to be gone, when he came back from his trip to the liquor store for some beers. Instead, he found her on her spot on the couch, holding her knees tightly against her chest as she rocked herself back and forth. After wiping the cold sweat from her forehead, she turned and made her withdrawals clear to Jacket, as if he couldn't tell just by looking at her. She was now fully clothed of course, dressed in a green tank top and jeans Jacket had purchased at a random street vendor. Jacket made it clear right away, if she was going to start using, she would have to get lost. He was already taking a big enough risk, leaving her alive, with what she knew about his after hour activities, he didnt need heroine dealers in his apartment on top of that. As he firmly put his foot down, in what he assumed was the equivalent of showing her the door, she surprised him yet again. For reasons, that Jacket couldn't even begin to comprehend, she looked up at him, her eyes wide with anxiety, before putting on a face of determination. She gave him one quick nod, and just like that, she committed to riding out her addictions with Jacket.

Jacket couldn't believe what was happening. She was breaking her habit, putting her body through hell, simply because Jacket told her too. It wasnt that Jacket felt he was wrong, that she wouldnt be better off without her addictions, it was that she had decided he was someone to listen to in the first place. She had done more then simply listen to Jacket, she trusted him. She had twisted it in her mind, that he was somehow helping her, and not the other way around. Just having her here with him, in his stagnant apartment, was a welcome change of pace. She couldn't see, that she had added far more value to an empty, directionless man, then he knew he was ever truly worth. Jacket had no value, if he did, he wouldn't be killing for pleasure out of boredom.

Jacket did not to deserve her. He did nothing to deserve the sacrifice she had willingly agreed to put herself through. He did nothing to deserve the trust she put in him, to be the one to help in bettering herself. He didnt understand, he couldn't understand. He later realized, what he had done could have been skewed to be chivalrous, romantic even. The blood stained, rooster headed knight, charged in on his gas powered steed, and saved the damsel in distress from the bad guys… that couldn't have been any further from the truth. He killed all of those men, because he felt compelled too. He killed them, to kill them, nothing more. He was no hero… and yet he was. Even if he had tried to convince her, how pathetic and empty he was, how selfish and thoughtless his actions truly were… he would still be a hero, if only to her.

It was her misconception, that there was something noble, and good, deep down within him, that began to unravel everything. It didnt take long, for her to invite herself into the spare mattress in his room. From there, it didnt take long for them to slide the two mattresses together. Even though he knew, she was wrong, it felt so good to pretend. She believed he was something worth cherishing, that he would always protect and care for her. After awhile, Jacket too, wanted to believe these things. Even if they werent initially true, wanting them to be so, had to account for something. It was then, that Jacket dreaded the sound of the phone. Where before, the sound of a phone ringing in his apartment, was like a wake up call, pulling him from his drab meaningless existence, and switching his brain into overdrive. He didnt really exist in his apartment, he was simply waiting for the phone to ring. That was then… now, he had something to lose.

Jacket hadn't allowed himself to think on his past, of her, until now. If he had, he would have realized, it was the memories he shared with her, that he looked foreword to reliving most. Whatever good she was for him. Whatever comfort she brought, whatever hope she inspired, it all paled in comparison, to the damage taking her in ultimately brought upon him. Seeing her body riddled with bullets on his bathroom floor, with blood running from her mouth and nostrils, fractured the hope and comfort she brought and shredded his insides with their pieces. Seeing the face of her killer, or rather, the rubber animal mask staring back at him, shattered his mind completely. When he awoke in the hospital, he was no longer man. He became what the newspapers said he was, what the TV had hyped the masked killers to be. A rampaging psychopath. He no longer needed sleep, food, he needed only to kill. There was no going back to humanity after that, not for him. Even after he killed his way to the very top of the Russian mob, and glutted his fill of blood, Jacket never reemerged. He was broken, utterly, and irreparably broken.

Jacket closed his eyes tightly, forcing the thoughts from his head. He knew why he had not revisited his memories, even while reliving them over and over again. They burned and seared through his mind like heated iron. As seductive and dreamlike, the memories of the hooker was, the memory of her death, the betrayal of 50 Blessing, was enough to set his soul on fire once more. Last time it manifested into a blood soaked frenzy of violence and death, leaving him nearly catatonic in his indifference. What it would do now, here, in this limbo like state, he could not afford to find out.

For what felt like minutes to Jacket, must have only been a few seconds in reality. Tony had not even noticed Jacket's distraction, instead he was gritting his teeth, holding back a wave of his own pained, conflicted emotions, behind a wall of aggression. The redness in his eyes, told Jacket a different story. Tony was in pain. The muscular man glanced at Corey out of the side of his eyes, before shivering with shame. He bought his glazed over gaze back onto Jacket before speaking through grit teeth. "I tried so hard… to keep myself from giving a fuck about anyone… why couldn't I…?" Tony said, his voice low, nearly a whisper. Jacket didnt have to think long for a response. In all the ways the hooker had helped Jacket, nearly breaking him free of his addiction of mindless slaughter, the people in Tony's life had weakened his murderous facade, revealing his true self in his final moments. Tony perceived his true self as a weakness, but Jacket knew better. "Because you're human." Jacket said frankly. Whether he liked it or not, Tony was part of the human race, no matter how much he postured and raged against it. Tony seemed to understand, though he quickly scoffed it away with a bitter laugh. "I'm human huh…? Ok… ok…" Tony mumbled. Tony gathered his wounded pride, and turned from Jacket, reaching down to lift up his chair, shoving it back to its place at the table, before sitting down in it. Jacket wasnt sure if he actually did anything to help the big man, in truth he looked just as devastated as before he approached. Then again, the same could be said for the other two as well. He hadn't said or done anything they couldn't have figured out on their own. Whether he knew exactly what they happened to need to hear and was the right person to tell them, or if this place somehow nullified your thoughts… it was anybody's guess, and Jacket was not a fan of guessing.

Jacket left the strong man, to quietly brood, keeping his large muscular arms tightly crossed against his broad chest. Out of the corner of Jacket's eye, he saw the dark haired woman, Corey, try to get Tony's attention without making any noise. She and Mark had been respectively quite, watching Jacket as he preformed what probably seemed like shaman spirit trips with the other lost souls at the table. Tony did not look up to meet her gaze, he kept his eyes down onto the table in front of him, unwilling to look up at her. While it was more evidence to Jacket, that he had possibly done more harm for the strongman then good, it wasnt his motivation to make sure the five at this table were happy. He wanted nothing more then for all of this soul searching shit to be done with, to crawl back into his familiar patterns and loops, and lose himself in the violence awaiting him, should such a return ever be possible that is. In the end, Jacket was simply a leaf in the currents of fate, now more then ever before.

Jacket couldn't help but feel something as he looked to the pretty blonde woman as he approached the remaining two. He was certain he had met her before, but he could not place her. It was enough for Jacket to wrack his mind in frustration, but in the end, indifference won out. He would find out more then he would ever want to know about the woman, soon enough. Jacket approached the woman from the side, where she was standing alongside a lithe, clean shaven man, who seemed intent to drink himself to death in this place. The two were wearing matching outfits, some kind of urban warrior costume, with bright green and orange sports armor, matching gloves and elbow/knee pads. He felt his eyes drawn to the blonde woman again, the feeling of nostalgia itching in his mind. She was at a side profile to Jacket, and like most of the other disturbed souls here, made no reaction to him as he approached. She stared down with a somber, motherly look, as she ran her fingertips over her partners shoulder pads. The little bald man, kept his gaze down to his drink, spending more time staring at the bottles of alcohol before him, as he did taking heavy swings from them.

Jacket watched the two, stuck in their limbo like movements that repeated with unnatural timing, like a movie set to loop indefinitely. After the novelty of the eternal looping wore off for Jacket, he took a step foreword and reached out his hand as he had done before. The moment his fingers gently gripped around the blonde woman's arm, as she ran it over her partners shoulder lovingly, he felt himself being pulled into another memory. He had predicted this would have been the case, but he did not predict the nature of the memory he was thrust into.

Jacket abruptly emerged in the memory, with his military issued pants down at his ankles, his hips moving mechanically, automatically driven by instinct and lust. Jacket was bombarded by a barrage of emotions and sensations all at once. The sounds of the blonde woman crying out in his ear, the pressure of her legs wrapped around his waist, the sting of her fingernails digging into the back of his neck, and the friction against his member as he furiously pounded into the woman, pinning her back up against the blue porta potty wall. Of all the head trips he had been pulled into, this one was Jacket's favorite so far.

After the awkward the dance of redressing in the cramped, smelly space, and doing their best to file from the porta potty one at a time, Jacket flared up a cigarette as he leaned back against the Hawaiin hut exterior. After pulling one long drag into his lungs, the beautiful blonde fell back against the wall besides him, looking straight ahead, an impish smirk across her lips. Jacket blew a cloud of smoke out from his lips in front of him, keeping his eyes straight ahead with his usual, cool gaze. Without turning his eyes, he subtly reached his hand towards her, holding the cigarette out for her. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Alex's blue iris's sparkle, before she reached foreword and took it from Jacket.

Neither of them spoke, as Jacket fished out another cigarette, and lit it after placing it to his lips. They smoked, and stared straight ahead, the adrenaline and endorphins from their hook up, still buzzing in Jacket's mind. Jacket might have been mildly embarrassed, that he had not recognized Alex, but he had surrendered to the echoes of history, and like before, simply followed the directing current. When he opened his mouth, finally to speak, he felt himself, his true self, regret what it was he was about to say. "So… got a number I can reach you at?" Jacket said casually. This was a typical move for Jacket. Once again, he was confusing a physical fling with something more, and wanted to pull this woman into his string of doomed relationships. Jacket vaguely remembered what happened next. Alex smiled, though nervously this time. Her eyes were now burning straight ahead with anxiety, as she wracked her thoughts for an excuse. Jacket at the time didn't understand her reaction, and even now, it confused him.

Finally she turned towards him with a sheepish smile and reluctant eyes. "Sorry… I don't think it would work." She said frankly. Jacket felt the echo of pain in his chest, as his past ego took the hit. Jacket glanced away from her and nodded his head, as if in agreement. "Ok. Got someone back home?" Jacket asked. He could feel his past emotions, and hear his past inner thoughts. He was not content to just leave it at that. If he was going to be shot down, disappointed and hurt right off the bat, he hoped the reason would at least be interesting, maybe even painful. Pain was at least something. It wasn't comfort, validation, security, or whatever other reasons people sought others out, but it was something.

Alex's cheek and brow twitched in response to Jacket's question, and she didn't answer for the longest time. "Yea, something like that…" Alex muttered. Jacket could feel his past self, dissatisfied with the answer. "Boyfriend? Husband?" Jacket said, as if musing to himself out loud. In truth, he was just trying to prolong things. Alex again hesitated, her eyes wavering down to the grass at her feet. "I… need to be there for my family." Alex finally said. Jacket nodded, as if he understood, as if he cared. "Ah, you're a caretaker huh?" Jacket asked absentmindedly, already checking himself out of the conversation. Alex gave a sudden giggle, that was felt like music in Jacket's ear. It was playful, and cheery, but it also had a dangerous, creepy tone to it. Jacket turned to see her smiling face, wishing she would cut it out. "I'm more of a conductor, actually." Alex said, purposefully cryptic. Jacket couldn't help himself, but to be intrigued. "Yea? What is it your conducting?" Jacket asked, genuinely curious. Alex flashed him a sinister smile. "A masterpiece…" She said breathlessly. Jacket laughed, regretting her rejection of him more and more. "Oh, so its like that." Jacket said. Alex gave a smug look before looking straight ahead once more, taking a drag from her burrowed cigarette. "Yea, its like that." She said. Jacket likewise, leaned back against the wall, and kept his eyes foreword.

"I wish I was the creative type, I couldn't create anything, especially not a masterpiece." Jacket said disingenuously. He was still trying to change Alex's no to a yes, unwilling to take no for an answer, especially now that she's proven to be far more interesting then her originally realized. Alex's smile widened, as she grinned proudly to herself. "Yea, I guess I am the creative type, and Ash is the mechanical type." Alex said, wincing as soon as the words left her lips. Jacket at the time was confused why her brother's name was somehow embarrassing for her to bring up. He was part of the family, he would assume he was included. Maybe it was some sort of secret project they were working on, maybe something embarrassing. Or maybe, he just didnt have all the information, and Jacket never was one to pry.

"Its cool you do stuff with your brother." Jacket said. It was a meaningless comment. Jacket didnt give a shit what the gorgeous blonde's family was like, it just felt like something to say at the time. He could barely see it, it never registered to Jacket's past self, but he saw it now. He cheated, straining his sight without actually turning his gaze, widening his peripheral vision the best he could. Out of the borders of his vision, he saw Alex's lips slowly twist into a sad smile, her eyes half close thoughtfully. "Yea, I love my brother. I couldn't imagine a life without him… he completes me." Alex said, her voice barely a whisper.

Jacket felt himself begin to dissolve, as the memory ended. He, like when inside of Mark's memories, found himself a shapeless onlooker. Alex was facing Ash, as they stood on the roof of the new Russian headquarter building. Ash was looking back over his shoulder, turning around at the sound he heard. His eyes widened through the eye holes of his numbered swan mask, before the sound of the gunshot ripped through the night air. The bullet tore through Ash's masked forehead, punching the front of his skull out through the back of his mask. Ash's head jerked backwards with so much force, the mask flipped from his head. He fell back onto the roof, a half second before his mask landed next to him. Alex screamed her brothers name, before staring down at his face as he looked up into the night sky. His lips and eyes trembled for a brief moment, before relaxing. The look of wide eyed surprise and horror, had hardened onto his face, like a sculpture of wet concrete, capturing his final moment of living and permanently preserving it.

Alex stared, it was all she could do. She couldn't think, she couldn't process what it was she had witnessed. So she stared at her beloved's corpse, frozen in place. If it wasn't for the guttural laughing of wild triumph coming from the gunman, Alex doubted she would have been able to tear her eyes away from that terrible image, the image of her brothers dead, frozen face. She grit her teeth, and turned her head, hot tears surging over her eyelids. Through the fog of tears, and unbearable pain in her chest, she cried out at the blurry gunman, sending trails of spittle flying from her mouth. "What are you waiting for!?" She wanted to yell, but she barely had time to finish the sentence, before the bullet slammed through the hard athletic armor, and ripped through her ribs. The impact of the bullet spun Alex around, punching a hole through her right lung. She collapsed onto her face, her mask being spun from her head as she fell, before her cheek crashed against the rough floor of the roof. When her eyes slowly refocused, she found herself staring once again, at her brothers death frozen face. Her tears continued to flow from her eyes as her blood began to flow from her body and pour into her lungs. She grit her teeth. The pain in her body was nearly as devastating as the pain in her mind. She continued to stare at her brother, keeping her eyes locked onto him, until blood filled her lungs. As she choked and suffocated on her own blood, as she lost her ability to see, and the darkness closed in all around her, her final thoughts tortured her remaining moments of living, until death mercifully took her.

Jacket found himself back in the bar of lost souls, staring into the eyes of the most distraught soul of them all. Alex's eyes were glowing red, the bright colored veins in her eyes ready to burst, as warm tears flowed freely down her cheeks and onto the tile floor. She gasped, and nearly suffocated herself, by keeping her teeth clenched together and bared, as if trying to filter the air in and out of her lung. Occasionally her jaw would open, and shudder violently, clattering her teeth together, as she wobbled before Jacket. He had no idea what it was he could **possibly** say to her. The woman's final thoughts might as well have been radioactive, they had caused her so much pain. Jacket had the displeasure of basking in Alex's devastation with her, supernaturally bound and empathetic to the ruined woman. Just absorbing a fraction of Alex's pain as an incorporeal onlooker, was enough for Jacket to know there was nothing he could do, to bring her comfort.

Alex didnt wait to collect herself before speaking. Her words jumbled from her lips in an unstable mess. "I… was the conductor… I lead… he followed." Alex murmured, her tears dripping from her cheeks and jaw, and onto the ground. Jacket grimaced, beyond uncomfortable, as he listened. He figured he could manage that at least. Alex shuddered, and tightly closed her eyes, as emotional pain visibly ravaged her body. "He… would have followed me anywhere… he would have done anything I wanted…" Alex stammered. Jacket couldn't help but wince at what she was about to say. Jacket had thought it already, of course. What she was about to say was indeed true… but thats why it hurt so much, because it was true. Alex slowly opened her eyes and lifted her dull, dead stare deep into Jacket's soul before speaking. "I killed him… he died because of me… because of what I turned him into…" Alex choked out. Jacket's left eye flinched, as he listened to her vent her agony out into his general direction. It would have been preferable for him, to be standing in the cross breeze near a release of toxic fumes. "He died protecting me… b-but… who was protecting him?" Alex's voice degraded into high pitch mumbling, choked silent by the sobs she could no longer hold back.

Jacket stared at her as she wept. He was dumbstruck. What the fuck was he supposed to say to that? He couldn't argue with her. He didnt know what the hell was going in between the brother and sister team, and he wasnt sure he wanted to know. What's more, he believed her. She blamed herself for twisting them into murderous psychopaths, instead of a couple of doctors or something. For some reason, Jacket didnt think a "Yea, shit happens." line was going to be very effective here.

A calm voice chimed in from the table, startling Alex. Jacket glanced to the bald headed minion, who had pulled himself away from his drinking, and had turned himself to face Alex. "I knew what I was doing sis…" Ash said gently. Alex's body bristled with conflicting emotions, as she turned to look back at her brother. "You lead… but I followed. I wanted what you wanted, I always have, and always will…" Ash said, his grim, condemned face doing its best to look comforting. Alex finally turned to her brother, trying her best to straighten and compose herself, without collapsing into a pile of regretful tears. "But without me… you would…" Alex muttered, before Ash interrupted her. "Without you, I wouldnt have gotten this far… you know I can barely take care of myself on my own… even if I could, I wouldnt change a thing." Ash said, doing his best to smile through the look of doom coming from his eyes. Alex didnt seem to notice, or chose not to notice. She collapsed onto her brothers neck and shoulder, hugging him so tightly the little man could barely choke out his next words. "What is a killer swan number 2, without killer swan number 1?" Ash asked softly, hugging his sister back and closing his eyes. Alex pressed her face against the young man's shoulder pad and closed her eyes as well. "No better then killer swan number 1, without killer swan number 2…" She whispered dreamily.

Jacket watched the twins embrace for what felt like minutes. He fidgeted awkwardly. He didnt do a damn thing this time. This whole spiritual journey was a waste of time for everyone involved, especially Jacket. Without even trying, he had somehow influenced them to take up masks, but it wasnt like he was the one who decided to kill people in the first place. He was nothing more then a sad, lonely man, drifting through life, who allowed himself to be molded by others. How could that kind of man, somehow attract others… to mold themselves into his supposed image? The longer he remained among these people, the more and more agitated he was becoming. He wanted to get away from these five, to go back into some dank hole, or dark corner, and hide within himself. Seeing the effect his mindless actions had on these people, on the actual thought they applied to what was supposed to be thoughtless… it was becoming unbearable for Jacket.

Jacket turned away from the table and began to walk towards the bar. He had enough. He had done what he was supposed to do… probably, and he would now wait for the next pointless obstacle to come and get him to jump through it. He managed to take two whole steps, before the dark haired woman, Corey, called out to him. "W-where are you going?" She blurted out in surprise. Jacket whole heatedly sighed, slumping his shoulders, before turning his head to look back at her. Her eyes were wide, her mouth was partly open. He quickly scanned the faces of the rest of the failed vigilantes. They had similar faces, ranging from surprised, irritated and disappointed. It was just as Jacket feared… they expected more out of him. Were they in for a rude awakening.

"I'm going to get a drink. My work here is done." Jacket said listlessly. In truth, he had no idea what it was his "work" was, he had only assumed, something he hated doing. If the point of him being in this bar of purgatory, was to get him to think, boy had they miscalculated. Jacket would kill every man and woman in this place, to return to his dank apartment, to receive a phone call with direct instructions on what to do next. Tony snorted and shook his head. Mark just blinked, before grimacing in disappointment. The twins looked genuinely surprised, shocked even. He didnt know what they all expected from him, but he didnt really care. It was Corey, however, that looked the most dissatisfied. She stood up from her chair and dashed in front of him. Jacket glanced down at the floor as she rapidly approached, before turning on his heels to face her.

Corey opened her mouth as she stood before Jacket, her face filled with conflicting emotions. She looked unsure what it was she actually intended on saying. Jacket sincerely pitied her. Whatever man she thought he was, he was certain that person didnt exist. "You cant… just leave us. We need you…" Corey said weakly, her face grimacing as soon as the words left her lips. Jacket didnt respond at first. She said "We need you" but what he heard, what he saw in her eyes was "I need you". The way the woman had romanticized him, reminded him far to much of the woman he couldn't bring himself to dwell on. "I cant help you. I have nothing to offer." Jacket said as clearly as he could, maintaining his unblinking gaze for effect. Corey winced and shook her head. "Thats not true…" She insisted stubbornly. Jacket felt a swelling of frustration in his chest, and his words blurted out with more fire then he intended. "Lady, you dont even know me. Whatever it is you think I am or what I can do for you, its not real." Jacket said firmly.

He waited calmly, and watched Corey react, or rather, he watched her fail to react. She blinked, before her face went blank. He had wanted to let her down gently, he had nothing but sympathy for Corey, for picking her role model so piss poorly… but it needed to be said. Corey lowered her eyes, letting them twitch back and forth as she battered around Jacket's words, before rising her gaze back up again. She smiled bitterly before speaking. "You're right…" She said, her voice coming out horse at first. Jacket watched the woman's delusions of him shatter and fall away. He tried his best to keep his face expressionless and cold. He tried his best to keep from giving a shit, as Corey's eyes grew cold and dark. It wasnt his fault, it wasnt his fault at all she was like this. He never asked for followers, he was never going to be any kind of… leader, if thats what they were hoping… so why did he feel guilty?

Jacket reached his hand out and placed it on her arm gently. It wasnt much, but it was something, and Jacket felt he had to do… something. Corey's body flinched against his touch, almost as if her muscles tried to recoil from him, even as her feet remained glued in place. Corey kept her head lowered, covering her eyes with her dark bangs as Jacket kept his hand against the side of her arm. Jacket eventually removed his hand, and placed it into the side pocket of his lettermen jacket, glancing off to the side. Well, that was awkward, but at least he made an effort.

Jacket turned his head to the side, looking away from Corey and glancing back at the bar. It was about time he had that drink. He began to move away from the brooding woman when he heard her voice. "One last thing…" Corey muttered, keeping her eyes hidden from him under her own bangs. Jacket couldn't help but sigh, as he turned to face her once more. Before Jacket had any time to react, he found himself face to face with the dark haired woman. Jacket's eyes widened with surprise, as he felt the woman's lips press tightly against his own. His back and shoulders went ridged, but he did not push her away, he was to taken aback to resist her. Jacket closed his eyes, which he hoped was nothing more then a reflex, as Corey's hands pressed against his chest. He felt them move up across the sides of his neck, before she placed them against his cheeks. She cradled his head gently, keeping her lips locked firmly into the kiss.

Corey suddenly broke away from the kiss, letting out a large gasp for fresh air. Jacket blinked, still stunned, as he watched Corey pant heavily before him, having apparently forgotten to breathe during the kiss. Her cheeks were bright red, and she once again hid her eyes from Jacket, behind her locks of dark hair. "I'm sorry I just… I wanted… I had too…" Corey said, trying multiple times to form a coherent sentence, before finally keeping her mouth closed. Jacket simply watched her, as surprised now as when she first started kissing him. Yes… she did have a lot in common with her. Jacket winced, feeling the pain of the woman's memories begin to bubble up inside his chest.

Corey abruptly turned from Jacket, making her way back to the table of misfit killers. Alex and Ash looked just as stunned as Jacket felt, but it was the other two, whose reactions were interesting. Mark's look of disappointment he had earlier, when Jacket refused to stick around, had definitely worsened. The big bearded man watched Corey as she made her way back to the table out of the corner of his eyes, trying unsuccessfully to keep his face from revealing the sadness behind it. Tony's face was blank. He didnt look at either Corey or Jacket, but Jacket was sure he saw the muscular man's jaw hardened as he watched him. Jacket didnt know what he may or may not have been dragged into, but that was for the three of them to figure out. He turned towards the bar, it was long past time he had himself a drink.

Jacket made his way to the front of the bar, facing the back wall. After taking a seat on one of the stools, he overheard a conversation going on, from a couple sitting as far away from him as possible, on one of the ends of the U shaped bar. "How could I be happy here? There is no conquest…" The man said grimly. The woman let out a sensual, cooing, sound that prompted Jacket to turn his head and look. The woman making the seductive sound was an Asian woman, wrapped head to toe in leather. The severe looking businessman, with weathered features ignored the noises the woman made, and kept his intense, hate filled eyes staring straight ahead. The Asian woman ran her long fingernail up and down the arm of the businessman, continuing to make sensual noises with her breathing. "You have me… and I have you… so I'm happy." She breathed seductively. The businessman at the table took a sip from the martini glass in his hands, before jerking his arm away from the woman's caresses. The leather bound woman, let her arm fall back to the table, idly playing with its smooth surface, before eventually moving her hand back up to the businessman's arm. Jacket watched absentmindedly, as the businessman would jerk his arm away again after awhile, and again the woman would eventually bring her fingers back up against his arm, or down against his lap in what seemed like an endless dance.

Jacket felt his spine tense and straighten, as a strangely familiar voice echoed in his ear. "Hey you… buy me a drink?" The soft, affectionate voice said. The voice came from his right side, opposite to where he was turned to watch the bickering couple at the bar. Jacket didnt turn his head though, he didnt want to look. "Its ok… I'm not going to bite." The voice said tenderly. Jacket slowly swiveled his head, to look straight foreword, only glancing at the blonde woman's features from the corners of his vision. The familiar blonde was leaning her side against the bar, facing him. She patiently waited, even as Jacket remained silent for what seemed like minutes. Jacket's resolve, his stone like patience and fortitude, began to tremble and fall apart, withering under the big blue eyes, and the affection behind them. Finally, Jacket turned his body to face her, slowly bringing his eyes up to meet hers. She was just as beautiful as he remembered, but it brought Jacket little comfort seeing her here.

"Now… about that drink?" The blonde woman said, smiling gently. Jacket didnt respond, he simply stared at her big blue eyes, stared through them. "Where's your horse mask?" Jacket asked. The blonde woman's eyes blinked in response, before smiling knowingly. "I left it." She said. The woman in the mask, the woman radiating blue light and comfort… the only women he ever truly loved, they were all the same person. Jacket was not surprised, it was almost as if he had always known. In his broken, automated state, he never stopped to question it, but he still somehow knew, it was her. The woman he pulled from one of his murder sprees. The only shred of good he did in his whole miserable life, was now standing face to face before him. Jacket felt a pain, but not like before. It was a deep ache within his chest, painful, heavy, but not overwhelming. The blonde woman's blue eyes sparkled with concern, as she instinctively knew he was suffering. She placed her hand on his, as her lush lips pulled themselves in a reluctant grimace.

Jacket lowered his gaze from the woman. "You're not really her… are you?" Jacket mumbled. He felt her fingers against his chin, as the blonde woman raised his gaze back into hers. She looked back at him, with a sad, pained expression. "No… I'm not really any of them." She whispered reluctantly. Jacket blinked, when he opened his eyes again, her face had changed. She was still blond, but her eyes were no longer blue, her face a different shape. Jacket quickly recognized her as well. Another one of Jacket's romantic partners, he met her at a beach party, before "Jacket" ever existed. Like the rest of the relationships in his life back then, it was physical, fast, and a whole lot of fun while it lasted… it just lasted longer then ever before with this woman. He had truly thought, that she was the one, that he loved her. Maybe he did love her, but she didnt love him, not enough at least. Jacket drew a line in the sand, and she didnt cross it. She didnt want a real relationship, she wanted to play on the beach, forever. She quickly found others to fill Jacket's role, better then he ever could. Jacket was devastated. It had never hurt that much before, he didnt know if he would survive it. It was about that time when…

Jacket's mind felt the familiar searing pain, instantly cutting off his train of thought. Jacket sucked in a sharp breath of air through his teeth, as the pain muddled his mind. The blonde woman squeezed the top of his hand tightly to get his attention. "Stay with me… stay here with me…" She whispered softly. Jacket forced himself to focus on the familiar face before him. The face had changed, he was once again looking at the hookers face. Seeing her face, as concerned as it was now, felt like someone had punched him in the gun. "Why are you doing this…?" Jacket mumbled, having to force himself to maintain eye contact. The blonde woman blinked and winced. "Because… I've grown rather found of you." The entity whispered. Jacket watched the woman, as she lowered her gaze from his. "I couldn't leave you like this forever… I had to intervene." She said softly. Jacket didnt know what that meant. He didnt know how any of this was helping him. Scratching at the wounds in his brain, all that was doing was threatening to break the seals he had put in place to protect himself. There was no helping him, there was no escape from this hell. He couldn't face the pain then, he wouldnt be able to face it now.

As if reading his mind, the blonde woman raised her eyes back up to Jacket's. She gave him a firm, intense gaze, and held it against him for a long time before speaking. "I think its time for that drink now…" She said. Jacket blinked in surprise, as the woman pushed off from the bar, and removed her hand from his. He couldn't help but frown, as she began to step away from him. "Where are you going?" Jacket said, far more desperate then he intended to sound. The blonde woman, the entity, the being before him smiled back at him, though a hint of sadness blossomed from behind her eyes. "I'm not very thirsty… I think it would be best, if you had this drink without me." She said through her sad smile. Jacket didnt know why, but he felt a warm welling up in his eyes. He didn't understand what it was she meant, but there was a somber finality about her words that haunted him. He somehow knew, he would never see her again, in any of her forms… though he did not know how or why.

Jacket sat alone with this thoughts for a long while. He didnt know where the female entity had gone to, he only knew the moment he tried to look after her, she was gone. A sudden pop and fizzle of carbonation, followed by the sound of a bottle being placed in front of him, filled Jacket's ears. Jacket slowly turned his head, to the opened beer before him. "Dont worry dude, its on the house." Said the familiar voice behind the counter. Jacket froze. He knew that voice. He knew that voice very well. He dragged his eyes from the open beer, to the man who placed it there. Jacket's eyes widened, as he took in the familiar features. Long red hair and a long beard, the kind a hippy from the 70s would wear. Green eyes, behind a pair of thick rimmed glasses. More then anything, it was the friendly, welcoming smile that stoked the flame of Jacket's nostalgic memories. Jacket felt his bottom lip tremble, just at the sight of him. "Beard…" Jacket said softly. "Before you ask… yes, its really me." The man behind the counter said.

Jacket tried to respond, but his words choked in his throat. The searing pain his memories brought him, subsided long enough, for him to recall the countless lonely nights he saw Beard… the countless times, his voice was the only thing that could bring him back from the shroud of loneliness and pain, or whatever fucked up emotional state he commonly found himself in. He never loved a woman, more then he loved this man. Even the love he felt for and from the hooker, was a surrogate for the love and stability this man brought him.

The man literally pulled him out of the fire back in the Hawaiian conflict. Jacket was wounded by a piece of shrapnel, that lodged itself into his gut, and it was Beard who risked his life, to pull him from the flaming power plant. Beard didnt hesitate, he didnt stop to think if he would have enough time to escape himself, if dragging Jacket's badly bleeding body was worth risking his own hide… he just grabbed Jacket by his vest, and dragged him along. He saved him, he pulled them from the burning building, and called in a medevac just in time for the surgeons to patch his guts up, and stop the bleeding. As they waited for the casevac, as Jacket bled out into the Hawaiian grass, he reached his arm out to Beard. Beard smiled, and slid a photograph of the two of them in his hands, told him it will help him remember who it was who saved his ass. The photograph, of Jacket with his arm around Beard's shoulder, and throwing up a peace sign, both smiling.

After the conflict with Russia was over, and America pulled down its pants and bent over to sign the truce between to two nations, Jacket had returned home to Miami. Once back, his life was far more lost and directionless then his empty but carefree life on the beach had ever been. He knew in his heart, he wouldnt have made it without Beard.

A surge of emotion rattled Jacket to his core. He let out a shuddering breath, through his clattering teeth, before whispering his words. "I've missed you so much…" Jacket swallowed the lump in his throat, and continued to tremble in his seat. Beard's big friendly smile slowly shrank, his eyes flashing with that knowing concern Jacket knew all to well. "Yea… I know man. I missed you too." Beard acknowledged, as Jacket lifted his eyes back up to meet his. "You did? I didnt even think you could miss anything here…" Jacket mumbled looking around at the eerie bar of lost souls. Beard grimaced ever so slightly before shrugging. "Yea… I dont know to much about this place, I havent been here long. I know I'm here to see you though." Beard said, raising his brow at Jacket. Jacket chuckled and smiled. "Yea? Let me guess… gonna pull my ass out of the fire again…?" Jacket said slyly. Beard made a face and shook his head in mock aggravation. "Fuck, if I knew it was going to be a full time job, I would have left you in there!" Beard said, keeping forced look of fatigued. Jacket laughed again, flashing his teeth in a full smile. "Hah, maybe you should have. Less pain that way." Jacket said, only half joking. Beard scoffed at that and shook his head. "Naw dude… life **is** pain… life is pain, life is joy, life is sad, life is happy, life is drinking, life is fucking, its… everything, its all things man." Beard said gesturing all around him dramatically. Jacket couldnt help but laugh heartedly at Beard waxing philosophical. "Oh yea, this place is life?" Jacket said, smirking smugly and jerking his thumb at one of the zombie like patrons. Beard narrowed his eyes and smacked Jacket on the side of his head. "Not this place you fucking smart ass." Beard said. Jacket cocked his right fist back like he was going to throw a punch. "Hey, watch the hair!" Jacket snapped. Beard smirked and raised his hands up and away from Jacket, in a phony "I surrender" stance. "Sorry man, I forgot. Ladies love your hair right?" Beard said. Jacket nodded, growing somber. "Yea… met a new one you dont know about." Jacket said softly. Beard blinked and raised his brows in surprise. "Yea man? Amongst all this shit? Good job!" Beard said, thrusting his hand foreword for Jacket to shake. Jacket didnt take the hand, and instead stared back at Beard with a dead eye look. "She got shot into a million pieces." Jacket said calmly. Beard closed his green eyes and let out a loud disappointed sigh. "Fuck man… I'm sorry…" Beard said, shaking his head. Jacket snickered, before bursting into laughter. Beard just blinked at that, shaking his head again, this time slowly in dismay. "D-dude, what are you laughing at, psycho?" Beard said, raising a brow. Jacket suppressed his laughter, before grinning bitterly up at Beard. "Its just… I should be used to that kind of shit by now, huh?" Jacket said with a chuckle. Beard shrugged. "You're laughing, maybe you are used to it now. You can only hurt for so long, right?" Beard said, nodding knowingly.

Jacket nodded, letting the painful memories of the hooker go. "Thank you…" Jacket said softly. Beard made a "Get the fuck out of here" look, before shaking his head. "Dude… for what? For what? Talking to my buddy? Common man…" Beard said. Jacket smiled, and chuckled warmly in the back of his throat. "Naw… not for this…" Jacket said, staring passed Beard, with glazed over eyes and an eerie smile. Beard just shrugged. "For what then? Putting up with your shit all the time?" Beard said with a smirk. Jacket didnt respond right away, but kept staring passed Beard, at the massive rack of alcohol. "For always being there for me…" Jacket said softly. Beard waved Jacket's words away. "Psh." Beard said. Jacket maintained his glassy stare, his bottom lip beginning to tremble. "I did so… so many horrible things to people… I tore out their throats, I bashed in their heads, I shot apart their faces… and I liked it." Jacket whispered. Beard lowered his head and sighed, nodding a few times before looking back up. "Yea man, I know, I know. I got the gist of it… somehow. You're fucking popular in the afterlife, or whatever this is." Beard said. Jacket didnt react to anything Beard said, but kept talking, picking up right where he left off. "No matter how far I went, no matter how monstrous I became, you were always there Beard…" Jacket said. Beard narrowed his brow, and kept listening. "You were always there… keeping me sane, keeping me from slipping away. Thank you…" Jacket mumbled, his gaze trembling, still looking off to the side of Beard's head. Beard's concerned eyes slowly melted, becoming blank and expressionless. "Dude… I dont know what your talking about." Beard said in a gentle voice. Beard's brow raised, as he saw Jacket's body flinch. "You were there… always ready to hand me a beer, or a video tape… or a… box of pizza… every time I went to that dark place… you were waiting for me, to bring me out of it." Jacket whispered reverently, through trembling lips. Beard swallowed, his lips pulled into a grimace. "I… I'm sorry, but that wasnt me man." Beard said carefully. Jacket's entire body jerked and shuddered. Beard watched his reaction, and waited for him to respond. When he never did, Beard kept going. "You know… I was never there in Miami with you… right?" Beard said gently. Jacket again didnt respond, so Beard once again continued speaking. "You know… it wouldnt be possible… right?" Beard said, ever so gently.

The suppressed pain, buried in Jacket's mind, began to slosh around insides of his skull, lifting up the dark crust and sludge buried at the bottom. The bottom layer of dark and painful memories began to break away, and floated to the surface of Jacket's mind. He grit his teeth, and hissed in pain, as he clenched his eyes tightly closed, trying to push the memories back down. Before he could force the searing pain back into the vault inside his head, he felt Beard's hands against his shoulders. "No man… you cant hide from this, and I'm sorry… I'm not even gonna let you try." Beard said. Jacket opened his eyes just enough to see Beard's firm resolve. "No… I cant." Jacket mumbled through clenched teeth. Beard didnt budge. "I'm sorry… but you can. I know you can, man… I know you can." Beard said, giving his shoulders a squeeze. Jacket felt the searing pain in the front of his mind intensify. It was no longer burning, it was tearing his mind apart. "I… cant." Jacket hissed, but it was already to late. All at once, he felt the dam give way, he felt the memories pour from behind the walls he erected to protect himself. All at once, he was in Miami. After the war, and before the 50 blessing calls. He was back there, at the moment that started it all.

The night after the break up, with the woman Jacket had convinced himself was "The One" he was left in a volatile state. Jacket was no stranger to agonizing over the loss of a relationship, but this time it was different. His emotions shifted from rage to sorrow, every time he beat himself down, convinced himself it was all his fault, that she had no business being with an erratic, fucked up vet in the first place, the other half of his brain would burst in, remind him that she had been fucking at least one other guy, before the relationship was even cold, that she was probably fucking him long before the relationship was over. In the midst of Jacket's momentary insanity and after a few to many drinks, he mulled over the idea of driving to his ex girlfriends house. There, he would shoot her in the face the moment she opened the door, then the fucking asshole she replaced him with, he'd shoot him in the back when he tried to run away. Jacket closed his eyes, vibrating with negative emotions, as he moved his index finger under his chin and pressed up into his flesh. He'd of course, blow his brains out the top of his head after that. He wouldnt be able to live with himself, not after all of that.

Fortunately for everyone involved, Jacket reached for the telephone, instead of his gun that night. Beard answered the phone as he knew he would. The hippy always had time to talk, he worked and owned a damn convenience story in San Fransisco. His version of the American dream, standing around and chatting at people as they stroll in at all hours of the day. The moment he answered the phone, he began to spill his guts out. He told him about the break up, the other guy or guys, why he felt like an idiot for trying to force a relationship with such a woman, and even about his crazy thoughts about doing something. Beard was cool though, he listened, and mumbled his support, never once judging, but also never shying away from speaking his mind.

Jacket let out a sigh of relief, feeling as if he had just vomited out a stomach full of poison. Beard on the other end of the phone chimed in, taking the momentary pause in the conversation to switch to a lighter topic. "So, you remember that photo we talked about from Hawaii?" Beard said. Jacket blinked, and glanced down at the photograph of the two of them, resting on the table in front of him, as he sat on the couch. "Did you ever get around to sending me a copy of it?" Beard said. Jacket winced. He had completely put it off for the dozenth time. While he felt a bit embarrassed for being caught not following through, apart of him was flattered it meant enough to Beard for him to keep asking about it. "The Polaroid that journalist took right? I lost track of it in some boxes, just found it though." Jacket lied. "Right, well whenever you get a chance, man." Beard said, sounding distracted. "Look, there seems to be something going on outside of my shop. I'm gonna go have a look, ok?" Beard said. Yes, he was definitely distracted.

"Sure thing, you take care of yourself man." Jacket said softly. "Alright, talk to you later, bye!" Beard said, his usual positive aura nearly bleeding from the phone before the call disconnected. Jacket sighed, letting out the flood of exhausting negative emotions, and letting the little embers the phone call created grow in his chest. That was another one he owed Beard…

Jacket slept like a log. He was glad he didnt have work the next day, because no alarm clock on earth would have raised him from his slumber. When he finally woke, it was already half past noon. He remembered having an intense craving for jerky, or some other high sodium snack. On his way to the nearest convenience store, he noticed the looks on peoples faces. Everyone was in shock, everyone was pissed off and despondent. Jacket finally asked the clerk at the convenience store, what everyones problem was. The clerk just narrowed his eyes at him and pointed to the television set he was watching. Jacket placed his hands on the counter and leaned over, craning his head to the side to glimpse at it from his angle. What he saw didnt register to him at first. The TV was set to the news. It was some breaking report, showing a ruined wreckage, of some bombed city in some war torn piece of the world. Thats when he saw it… on the bottom of the screen, for a brief moment before it flashed to commercials. "San Fransisco left in total ruin." Jacket blinked. The message was there, and then it was gone. What the fuck did that even mean? Before his mind could finish working that question out, he felt the store owner grab him by his jacket. He turned to look at the balding middle aged man, whose eyes burned with white hot hatred. "It was the goddamn RUSKIES." He spat from his lips, as if the words were acid on his tongue. Jacket stumbled away from the man behind the counter. What could that mean?

Jacket's feet moved all on their own, taking him from the store and sprinting all the way home. He burst into his apartment and knocked the phone from its receiver in his frantic reach for it. He dialed the number to Beard's convenience store, his fingers flying over the buttons. What he heard on the end of the line sent shivers through his body. Three melodic chimes, followed by a message. "We're sorry, the number you are trying to reach is disconnected or no longer in service. If you feel you have reached this number in error, please check the number and try your call again." The operators unfeeling voice said. Jacket kept the phone to his ear, staring straight ahead, until the sharp, high pitched call waiting tone pierced his eardrums. He slammed the phone down against the receiver, before throwing it back to his ear and redialing the number again. "We're sorry, th-" Jacket slammed the phone down again and this time, he dialed Beard's home number. "We're s-" Jacket slammed the phone down again, but couldnt bring himself to lift it back up.

He had too do something though. He needed to know. He wracked his brain for anyone he could call, any relative Beard might have mentioned he could get in contact with. He had too… he needed… Jacket released his hands from the phone. No… he didnt need to do anything. What point was there, really, digging up leads like some noir gumshoe, just to entertain some wild possibility. He forced himself, to believe that things were fine. San Fransisco was a big place after all. Jacket didnt need confirmation, he knew it would all be ok in the end. He just needed to distract himself in the meantime. Jacket pushed the phone calls and the news from his mind as he walked over to the kitchen. He opened the fridge and pulled out a beer, cracking it open and leaving the cap where it lied. He drank heavily from the bottle, when a bright pink piece of paper caught his eye. He walked over to his kitchen table, and reached for the small, hot pink sheet if paper resting on the pile of newspapers and shopper ads. "America is a tune. It must be sung together. -50 Blessings"

And distract himself he did. He joined the 50 Blessings hotline, and was asked several trivial questions, and later sent off on even more trivial tasks. It was all a welcoming distraction, exactly what he needed. He preferred not understanding the what or the why… just cryptic, but simple instructions leading him on a mindless adventure. When he received his "promotion" when he became the person following the scrawled 50 Blessings symbols, not just painting them, everything changed. He was given a brown cardboard box with detailed instructions. He was to get a briefcase, and leave it in a dumpster, and to do so discretely. Inside the box, was the rubber face that would come to replace his own. The rooster mask. When he slipped the mask over his head, he detached his mind, and detached himself. He had no thoughts or will of his own, his existence served only to follow the instructions, follow the symbols. In following the will of those who behind the instructions and symbols, he killed every living soul at the appointed target with wild abandon. Because the targets were Russian mob, because he was splattering bright red blood on the infamous white coats that plagued the nine a clock news, Jacket felt an immense amount of pleasure as he killed them. He did not only kill them, he killed them as violently as possible.

When finished, when his adrenaline began to wear off, he took the bloody briefcase to the dumpster out back. Something went wrong though, a homeless man crawled out from behind his card board box, and began angrily waving a bat at him. Jacket hesitated, this man wasnt a Russian mobster, he wasnt even a real threat. Somehow, Jacket knew, that it didnt really matter. He knew, he was supposed to kill him. He took the bat from the old transient man, and caved his skull in with it.

That was the first time he felt it. An unholy pulse of the darkness inside himself. If he had any doubts he had gone to far before, they were gone now. He pulled off his mask and vomited his lunch onto the split skull of the homeless man, unable to pull himself away in time. He stepped away from the body, not wanting to look at what it was he had done, but unwilling to pull his eyes away. He threw his mask into his car, and he drove the hell out of there. As he drove, he could feel the dark, empty eye holes of the rooster mask staring back at him from the passenger seat. He kept his eyes up, and on the windshield in front of him, afraid to find that he was right, and the mask was somehow alive, and staring at him. He drove for what felt like hours, through the dark Miami night, made bright by the colorful city lights. The colored lights and the Miami night darkness became a blur around his windshield, as he drove away from the sins of his actions. He eventually found himself in a convenience store in a part of the city he had never been to before. He walked to the front desk… and there he was. There, behind the counter, was Beard.

"Hi there man! I havent seen you around." Beard said. Jacket could not believe his eyes. The guilt, the mind numbing violence and blood he had driven away from, it all melted away. Jacket wanted to open his mouth, to say something, but he could not. He could only stare, and keep himself from breaking down in relief and a pool of unmanly tears. "Thought something might have happened to you. You seemed really down over losing your girlfriend." Beard said, as empathetic and comforting as always. Jacket smiled softly and nodded, letting Beard continue. "Dont remember seeing you after that..." Beard said. Jacket felt a twitch, a cramp in the back of his mind. He heard the words echo in his head. "Dont remember seeing you after that…" The words repeated in his mind again and again, before he saw Beard's image begin to shift.

He saw an Indian man in his place, staring blankly at him, unsure whether or not he should be afraid. Jacket's mind shuddered in his skull. "That wasnt me man…" He heard Beard's voice say. Jacket nearly collapsed, as a wave of memories cycled through his head. After he massacred another building full of people, there was Beard, smiling and offering him a pizza behind the counter. Then again, there was Beard, smiling and handing him an cheesy slasher flick. He saw Beard's face in all the places he went for comfort. In the faces of clerks and bartenders, the closest thing he had to human interactions, was buying and returning video tapes, ordering drinks at a bar, picking up pizza and beer.

Every time he killed, every time he felt the weight of his actions rise up to swallow him, it was Beard who drove all the guilt and horror away… only it wasnt really him. Which meant one thing to Jacket. He had gone completely insane. Jacket began choking and coughing, as the memories finally began to fade away, back down into the hallowed out vault of his mind. Beard watched him from behind the counter silently, waiting patiently for his friend to recover. Jacket grit his teeth, and wiped the moisture from his eyes before looking up at Beard. "So I'm crazy." Jacket whispered bitterly. Beard narrowed his eyes and shook his head. "No man, you're no more crazy then I am." Beard said gingerly. Jacket scoffed, and glared back at Beard. "What?" Jacket said in disbelief. Beard kept his firm gaze trained onto Jacket. "You heard me… you could have stopped and faced it at anytime, but you didnt." Beard said, giving Jacket a challenging look. Jacket felt a pang of anxiety in his stomach, followed by a wave of humiliation. Deep down, Jacket knew Beard was telling the truth. Deep down, Jacket knew what he was doing. The entire time, he knew what he was doing. Beard watched Jacket shiver in realization, before he continued. "You were so wrapped up in not hurting, to avoid the loss you hid yourself away, so far you put yourself in a prison." Beard said, jabbing his index finger against his temple for effect. "You've been in prison so long, you have yourself convinced you love the bars, you know what mean?" Beard said. Jacket couldnt respond. He closed his eyes as the surge of confusing emotions swirled inside of him.

Beard reached his hands back out to Jacket's shoulders and gave him a shake. "Oh no man, dont try and block this out. We're done with that, right? We're done running and hiding from it." Beard said insistently. Jacket's face winced and he opened his eyes. He whithered under Beard's persistence, because it was far more then he ever showed himself. "I'm not gonna be around no more to pull you out of the fire. You gotta learn to crawl out yourself this time." Beard said, narrowing his eyes. Jacket grit his teeth. "What do you want me to do? I'm trapped here, no different then anyone else." Jacket mumbled. Beard snarled his lips and shook his head in frustration. "No man! All these people are here, because they cant let go, or their to afraid, or they want to be here. You can leave, you can get out of here, and you can break the cycle once and for all." Beard said, giving Jacket another shake.

Jacket closed his eyes again. He didnt understand. He didnt know what it was Beard wanted out of him… but it didnt matter. He had decided, he was going to try. "Just tell me what to do… tell me what to do and I'll do it." Jacket promised. Beard smiled softly at Jacket, though a hint of reserved sadness dwelt behind his eyes. "I cant give you instructions anymore kid. I'm here to kick your butt until you get your head on straight, not order you around." Beard said. Jacket watched as Beard leaned back from the counter. "You've been following instructions, orders and patterns your whole life. Its time you made a change." Beard said, his voice growing sad. Jacket wanted to inquire more on what it was he was actually supposed to do, but the falling face of his closest friend was a higher priority to him. "You've got to go now… dont you?" Jacket said quietly. Beard smirked reluctantly. "Yea man… I do. I'm to good at this, we only had a little bit of time to hang out." Beard said playfully. Jacket smiled. "Yea, you were the best." Jacket said with a nod. "Still am, dont you forget that." Beard chided.

Jacket reached foreword to the open beer that had been sitting there, and took a small swig, before slamming it back down. "Thanks for the beer…" Jacket said, pushing himself from the stool reluctantly. "The next beer is on me." Jacket said with a sad smile. Beard nodded with a little smirk. "You got that right." Jacket looked around the bar of purgatory, before turning back to closest friend. "One thing though… how do I get out of here?" Jacket said with a laugh. Beard smirked, whole heartedly, and gestured with his thumb. "How do you think? Try the front door." Beard said. Jacket laughed. It was kinda funny, that nobody here had thought to try that. Jacket glanced away from the doors, back to Beard for a finale time. "Ill see you later." Jacket said softly. Beard looked at him square in the eyes. "Yes, you will."

Jacket made his way towards the front of the bar. He slid his hands into his front pocket, and swaggered his way past the glaring Russians, past the conflicted fans. He made his way to the doors and placed his hands on the door latch. He wasted no time in pushing it open. Jacket closed his eyes, and savored the feeling of fresh air against his face, the warm, humid Miami air, before stepping through the door and letting it swing shut behind him.

Jacket awoke in his cell. He blinked as he looked around at the bars in front of him. He was sitting on his bed, and rolling the green bouncy ball around his knuckles thoughtlessly. He felt a wave of anxiety and confusion, of why he awoke here, of all places. The sudden, but brief thought of an impeding atomic blast crossed his mind. Somehow, his internal clock knew, that he had been transported back years earlier. Only one question remained in Jacket's mind, as he continued to roll the ball across his knuckles as he thought. "Why here, of all times?"

Jacket heard the sounds of shouting from outside his cell doors. The shouting became chanting, chanting in Russian. Jacket mentally sighed. He remembered what happened on this day. In a few minutes the doors to the cells would all open. The order to return to them will be issued over the loud speakers, and ignored by the rioting inmates. He waited, playing with the green rubber ball in his hand, until the cell doors swung open, and the loudspeakers began blaring. Jacket hadnt taken part in the riots, he remained in his cell. It would have been like any other time really, if it wasnt for the unexpected visit he received.

Jacket continued to roll the bouncy ball around his knuckles, following the script, and waiting for the new players to step onto the stage. As Jacket predicted to the millisecond, a massive, muscular man with a bald head stepped into his cell. The inmate was covered from chrome dome to toe in tattoos. He was followed into Jacket's cell by two smaller men, one obese and balding, the other lean and athletic. Jacket paid them little mind. He stood up from his bunk and walked to the small metal sink on the opposite side of the cell from them. He watched out of the corner of his eyes, as the massive prisoner snorted at Jacket, unimpressed. "They say you are "the man" they say you are to be feared…" The prisoner said, pulling a metal file ground into a sharp pointy shank, from his pants. The prisoner spoke in with a Russian accent, as if spelling it out plainly what his motives were, before he pulled the shank. Jacket poured himself a cup of water and drank from it, before turning to face the large prisoner. He wasnt afraid, he knew the script, he knew what would happen next. "I say… you die!" The Russian prisoner bellowed before rushing at Jacket. Jacket moved to the side, knocking aside the arm thrusting toward him with the shank, while sweeping out his legs with his knee. The prisoner fell face first against the metal toilet with enough force to send blood and teeth spattering out the sides of his mouth. Jacket turned towards the fallen man and threw all of his weight behind his heel, slamming it into the back of the inmates head, crumpling his skull against the metal toilet like a soda can.

Jacket calmly stared down at the ruined mess that was still a man not but a few moments ago, before turning around to face the other two prisoners. He swept his calm, icy blue eyes from the two inmates, before they broke and ran from his cell. Jacket walked back to his bunk calmly, before once again sitting back down on it. Jacket realized, as he returned to rolling the rubber ball from knuckle to knuckle, that he was still following the script, still inside of the cycle. He wanted to keep his word, he wanted to change… but he had no idea how. Just the thought of doing something differently, sent shivers of dread through his body.

The rubber ball slipped from his fingers, and bounced playfully from his cell, towards and around the chaos of inmates and prison guards beating each other to death. Jacket watched the ball curiously. He stared after the small green sphere, as it rolled slowly to a stop amidst the chaos, before rising from the bunk and onto his feet. He stepped through the open door from his cell, and followed the little green ball to wherever it would take him.


End file.
